where
about Caria, at a place they call Latmos Cottage, cultivating her faded
roses--what a color Hebe has!--and studying the sentimental."

"_Tant pis_! She is a great loss to us," said Venus. "Apropos, you will
be at Neptune's _fete champetre_ to-morrow, _n'est ce pas?_ We shall
then finally determine about abandoning the assemblies. But I must go
home now. The carriage has been waiting this hour, and my doves may
catch cold. I suppose that boy Cupid will not be home till all hours of
the morning."

"Why, I believe the Rainbow Club _does_ meet to-night, after the
dancing," said Ganymede significantly. "This is the last oyster-night of
the season."

"Gracious goodness! The boy will be quite tipsy," said Venus. "Do, dear
Ganymede! try to keep him sober. But now, give me your arm to the
cloak-room."

"_Volontiers_!" said the exquisite.

As Venus rose to go, there was a rush of persons to the further end of
the room, and the music ceased. Presently, two or three voices were
heard calling for Aesculapius.

"What's the row?" asked that learned individual, advancing leisurely
from the refreshment table, where he had been cramming himself with tea
and cakes.

"Leda's fainted!" shrieked Calliope, who rushed past with her
vinaigrette in hand.

"_Gammon_!" growled the Abernethy of heaven, as he followed her.

"Poor Leda!" said Venus, as her cavalier adjusted her shawl. "These
fainting fits are decidedly alarming. I hope it is nothing more serious
than the weather."

"I hope so, too," said Ganymede. "Let me put on the scarf. But people
will talk. Pray heaven it be not a second edition of that old scandal
about the eggs!"

"_Fi done_! You odious creature! How can you? But after all, stranger
things have happened. There now, have done. Good-night!" and she stepped
into her chariot.

"_Bon soir_" said the exquisite, kissing his hand as it rolled away.
"'Pon my soul, that's a splendid woman. I've a great mind--but there's
no hurry about that. _Revenons a nos oeufs._ I must learn something more
about this fainting fit." So saying, Ganymede re-ascended the stairs.

A HIGHLAND TRAMP

From "Norman Sinclair"

When summer came--for in Scotland, alas! there is no spring, winter
rolling itself remorselessly, like a huge polar bear, over what should
be the beds of the early flowers, and crushing them ere they
develop--when summer came, and the trees put on their pale-green
liveries, and the brakes were blue with the wo